Morning
by bearfuck
Summary: After things have gone terribly wrong, Takeshi goes back. 8059. 1490 words.


**'Sup, guys. It's been a while. But I finally got around to finishing this little story. It's faintly (really) inspired by Ludo's song Part IV: Morning in May. Which is a lovely song. But yeah, enjoy, and please critique.**

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For the first time in two years, Takeshi Yamamoto smiled.

It wasn't a real smile, not the kind that someone who's never lost anything would smile. But it was the first time Takeshi's mouth turned up without internal pressure, without a carefully calculated reason to fake a positive emotion.

He could smell Hayato.

He had almost forgotten what it was like to smell that odd mix of cigarettes and breathmints that always followed the italian around, and the scent had long since faded from the sheets Takeshi wouldn't wash, the jeans he wouldn't throw away.

But here he was, standing outside the apartment they had shared, the cloud of smoke from the ten-year bazooka only just fading. Giannini's alterations had worked, it had really worked, and he was _here._

And if he was here, that meant that Gokudera was too.

Takeshi reached for the doorknob behind him, hoping his younger self had neglected to lock it. The door opened easily, showing that little kitchen in a state of complete disarray. Takeshi recalled that Gokudera had baked a cake the night before, and it was only because of Bianchi that they had ended up buying one. Or rather, Takeshi had ended up buying one. Thinking about it, he realized that that had been the exact moment where he had landed, his younger self just leaving to buy it.

Not wanting to disturb the perfect mess of the kitchen, Yamamoto crept through the kitchen and softly opened the door to the bedroom. He forced himself to not look at the bed and the figure he knew was there, instead opting to glance around the room. He noted several pairs of socks and jeans strewn about the wood floor, as messy as it always would be when Hayato would get stressed and forget to clean. He saw that familiar beat-up laptop thrown on top of a black t-shirt.

He remembered finding the same laptop, hours later, torn apart on the side of the highway.

Unable to put it off any longer, he dragged his eyes to the small figure sprawled across the bed, and his breath caught in his throat. _Hayato._

Not wanting to disturb the other man's sleep, but needing to touch him (just to make sure he was real), Takeshi pulled off his shoes and his jeans, and he slipped under the covers, scooting closer to Hayato and slipping an arm around him. The italian edged toward him without waking, getting closer until they were fully pressed together. Takeshi inhaled, trying to confirm that he was still sane, and Gokudera was really here. That same cigarettes-and-breathmints smell was stronger here, with a slight undertone of deodorant and come. It was then that Takeshi noticed that Hayato was naked, and _god_ it had really been two years since they'd last had sex - Takeshi remembered it like it had been yesterday.

Though now, technically, it had been.

The italian stirred, yawning as he opened his eyes. He turned over in Takeshi's arms, to face his lover.

"'Morning," Takeshi murmured, gently kissing Hayato. Oh, god, his memories hadn't done justice to the taste.

"Back so soon?" Hayato responded against Takeshi's lips before pulling back. "Wait. I thought you went to get a new cake. Did you seriously get half-dressed and then decide to stay anyway? You idiot, we can't let Jyuudaime down like that." His voice was more amused than annoyed, though there was a fair bit of annoyance there as well, and he stayed pressed against Takeshi. "Fuck it. Get up; I'm going to get it myself and you're going to stay here and wrap the goddamn present. Okay?" Without waiting for an answer, he twisted out of Yamamoto's arms and got out of bed. He began pulling on clothing - his favorite boxers, dirty jeans, one of Takeshi's shirts.

"Are you going to get up anytime soon, idiot?"

"Fine, fine." Takeshi pulled the covers off and stood, grabbing his pants off the floor.

"Is that a new shirt? I don't recognise it."

_Of course you had to go and screw up, Takeshi. Now he's going to be suspicious and maybe he won't trust you enough to stay out of the car. Way to fuck up. _"Ahaha, no, I just never wear it." Takeshi hoped the laugh didn't sound as forced as it was.

Hayato seemed convinced. He shrugged, and then made his way to the kitchen, and Takeshi followed.

Yamamoto perched on one of their barstools and just watched as Hayato made coffee. He'd forgotten the slightly shaky way the italian's hands would move when he was barely awake, and the impatient way he would tap his foot when he was waiting for something, and the way his wrist would curve when he pulled his hair back, and all of the little details.

And now he could witness them again.

The coffee maker beeped, breaking Takeshi's reverie. He watched as Hayato poured coffee into their two favorite mugs - Hayato's printed with a picture of them and Tsuna at their graduation, Takeshi's with the logo of his favourite baseball team - and mixed in Takeshi's cream and sugar, passing the mug to him.

"You know, if this makes us late, you're not getting any tonight," Hayato said, cradling his mug in his hands, waiting, as always, for his coffee - black - to cool to a drinkable temperature. "I really don't want to let the Tenth down."

Yamamoto smiled - another _real_ smile. "Yeah, yeah, I know. We'll be fine; hell, we'll probably be early. I mean, really, I could go pick up the cake and you could stay here and -"

"Oh, so now you want to pick up the cake? Maybe you shouldn't've decided to come back to bed, then." Hayato half-smiled as he spoke.

"Or we could drive there first together and then someone else could run out to get it…."

"Why don't you want me to pick up the cake, Takeshi?" He took a sip of his coffee.

Takeshi fumbled for words as Hayato raised an eyebrow and took another sip. What could he possibly say that would get Hayato to stay behind? "I just…I have a really bad feeling about this." _Idiot. Hayato's _life_ is at stake here and you can't do better than 'a really bad feeling'? Good job._ "I mean, please?"

"Look, Takeshi, I don't have time for 'bad feelings' about things. We're going to be late - " Takeshi started, but Hayato cut him off again, "later than I'd like to be, so I'm going to get the cake and you'll wrap the present and _everything will be fine._ I promise. Now drink your coffee." He did so, as Hayato began to tidy up the counter a bit. "And use the blue wrapping paper - that's the cow's favorite colour. And box it first; you can't wrap it the way it's packaged now." Hayato glanced at the clock. "And fuck, now I need to get out of here."

"Are you sure you won't let me get the cake?"

"Stop worrying. Nothing's going to happen. Now goodbye." After a quick peck on the lips, Hayato grabbed his bag and headed for the door.

As that door opened, Takeshi exploded. He felt himself breaking into tiny pieces inside, feeling more helpless than ever before. The opportunity was _right there,_ and he'd fucked it up. Hayato was going to die - again! - and he could have stopped it but he didn't and oh god how could things turn out so far from what he'd planned?

In that moment, he made a decision.

He ran out the door, down the flights of stairs, out into the parking lot of their building, to see Hayato just starting the car. The italian rolled down the window.

"What do you want, baseball idiot?"

"Unlock the car?"

"Why?"

"I thought I'd come along for the ride."

"But the present…"

"Just…please, Hayato?"

"Have it your way, but you get to deal with Lambo's wrath at not getting a present."

"I think I can handle it."

"Fine, then, get in."

Takeshi walked around to the other side, opened the door, and ducked into the car. He offered his hand as Hayato pulled out of the lot, and the other man took it.

The clock read 11:14. Takeshi wondered if the time would stay the same - 11:16. An instant death, the records had said. He wondered if it would even happen this time, and he hoped to every greater power, every force, every being that had ever been worshipped, that it wouldn't.

11:15.

"I love you, Hayato." He knew that he'd never said it before, but now seemed as good a time as any; he had always regretted not saying it when he had the chance. "You're amazing."

Hayato squeezed his hand in response and looked at him.

(11:16.)

"You've never said that before."

"But it's true. I really do."

"I love you too."

_bam._

**_ fin._**


End file.
